


Jesse McCree:  Cryptid Hunter!

by NiteWrighter, Parker_of_Loxley



Series: Overwatch Cryptid Universe [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Amputee Genji Shimada, Amputee Jesse McCree, Amputee Junkrat, Cryptid Hunter Genji Shimada, Cryptid Hunter Jesse McCree, Echo is mothman, Echo is technically nonbinary but doesn't really care about pronouns, F/M, Jesse McCree is a himbo, PTSD, Supernatural AU - Freeform, This was inspired by an ask for Nitewrighter, cryptid AU, just the concept, mothman au, not the show, two bros hunting cryptids in an RV
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:07:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24565870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NiteWrighter/pseuds/NiteWrighter, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parker_of_Loxley/pseuds/Parker_of_Loxley
Summary: Jesse McCree: Cryptid Hunter, the desperate high school dropout who chases mysterious creatures in an RV!  Will the world take him seriously?  Unlikely!  Will it guide him to a path of wonder, danger, and self-betterment?Who knows?  Maybe he can ask that oddly attractive moth over there!
Relationships: Echo/Jesse McCree, Jesse McCree & Genji Shimada, Jesse McCree & Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Junkrat | Jamison Fawkes & Roadhog | Mako Rutledge, Mina Liao & Moira O'Deorain
Series: Overwatch Cryptid Universe [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1775662
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	1. Point Pleasant, Here We Come!

“It’s trending,” muttered Genji. He didn’t exactly sound happy. He didn’t  _ generally _ sound happy, but this was one of those times where he was more noticeably perturbed. Leaning over his shoulder, Jesse watched as his roommate/cameraman/friend/cash source scrolled through the comment section. They were popular alright; it was uploaded just shy of two weeks ago, and the video of “Jesse McCree, Cryptid Hunter” getting chased by a wild hog in the forests of Florida was at almost two million views, and counting. 

That being said, it wasn’t exactly the kind of popular they had set out to become. Comments went less along the lines of “wow, I learned a lot about this weird creature” and more along the lines of his “himbo energy” and his name sounding way too fake. Granted, Jesse McCree was nothing if not a goofball to his core, but that’s not what he wanted people to focus on. He was trying to be the next big thing in cryptozoology, a field he was loving the more he learned about it, but (and this was a risk he more than expected) people just weren’t taking him seriously. 

Jesse sighed, patting Genji’s good shoulder, silently expressing that they would try again. Genji typically picked up on these kinds of small signals as easily as he dished them out, so Jesse took his silence for begrudging agreement. While his wayward-friend-turned-roommate wasn’t nearly as invested in finding lost beasts as he was, the silent one had found a small home in cinematography and editing. When Jesse first saw Genji go on one of his editing stretches, it gave him a grin that went ear-to-ear; Genji didn’t invest his time into just anything. 

Thankfully, they didn’t need to be taken seriously to monetize the video, and Jesse decided that a drink was in order to mourn the loss of their dignity. Leaving Genji at the table, he shimmied along the length of their RV. Jesse missed having a dorm sometimes; there wasn’t much more room in the vehicle, and at least a dormitory didn’t hit speed bumps or run on gas. But hey, without regular income, what are you going to do? If they didn’t pace themselves with Genji’s inheritance money, soon they’d be broke for real. The way Genji talked about his family’s company (and also didn’t talk about his family’s company), McCree kind of figured their cryptid hunting misadventures were an escape and a rebellion for him. He didn’t like talking about them so McCree didn’t pry too deeply. He didn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, not when his videos would look like shit and they’d both be stranded without said gift horse.

Walking to the fridge, McCree reached for the cabinet above, opening it to reveal a very diverse cast of hard liquors. First, he picked out the bourbon. Then, he picked out a glass. Doing things one at a time was still aggravatingly slow for Jesse--and even more so for Genji--but once he got used to it, it was alright. His prosthetic clamp could at least hold the glass while he poured the bourbon. At least he’d had enough practice not to spill it everywhere. 

“You want anything?”

“No.”

“Alright.” Jesse threw back the whole glass, musing on his own misfortunes. There was no way in hell he was going to find a desk job; prior to high school, there wasn’t exactly a sense of urgency to develop life skills. He and Ashe had figured they’d live forever on motorbikes, or something like that. That was fun, too, until he got arrested. That essentially shattered his chances at a normal job; no skills, a record. At least the army helped him out. 

But his lack of a southpaw was explanation enough of how that led to nowhere. So, this was really all he had left. His van, his roommate, his bourbon, and the hunt. All in all, he had more than some. The RV wasn’t bad, the bourbon was good, and the roommate was more than welcome. But that didn’t mean things shouldn’t change, and item number one was how to get things to change. 

After refilling the cheap drinkware and returning the bottle to its home, Jesse made his way over to his companion, planting his behind in the opposite seat. Genji was still busy brooding over the laptop, so the “newly-minted internet sensation,” as he had dubbed himself earlier (much to Genji’s chagrin) decided to look out the window. The day was almost dastardly young; both young men had become early risers, though for different reasons. As the sky began to brighten, the insects of the evening allowed themselves to retreat to their daytime hideaways. 

There were, however, a few stragglers. Nothing really freaky, just the standard-issue mosquito hawks and moths. 

Moths. 

Jesse’s eyes widened as he gave his unwavering attention to the insect on his RV’s window. That was it. That would be their big break. A real mainstream monster, a household name. They would tackle all of it, starting with the American legend-turned-meme. 

“Genji,” he started, “get on the message boards. What’s happening in Point Pleasant, West Virginia these days?”

The RV’s other occupant immediately began typing away. When it stopped, there was a beat, presumably filled with reading, punctuated with a stern “ _ no _ .”

Jesse scoffed. “Whattaya mean, no?”

“I mean no. The skunk ape was a stretch at best...” Genji, while certainly skeptical of the whole “cryptids” thing, wasn’t a whole nonbeliever. He conscribed to the view that people were seeing something; no matter what it was, there was something going on, even if it was a man in a suit. “...but Mothman? There hasn’t been a sighting for forty--” he glances down, and his jet-black brows furrowed. “--minutes.”

Jesse shot into a more attentive pose, eyes wide. 

“Jesse, there was a sighting reported 36 minutes ago.” Genji turns the laptop around, allowing Jesse to see for himself. Sure enough, the timestamp read that it had been posted 36 minutes prior. And there was another, a few days ago. Three last week. None before that, but, it had to start somewhere. Jesse couldn’t believe it, it was a sign, and his eyes were wide open!

“We’re going to Cape Pleasant!”

“Point Pleasant.”

“We’re going to Point Pleasant!”

In the forests of West Virginia, down a winding dirt road and fenced off by electrified and barbed-wire topped chain-link was, officially, a soon-to-be-defunct coal research facility. Doctor O'Deorain wasn’t sure if it had ever been a coal research facility, but she knew it was ugly enough for it. A late-brutalist monstrosity with numerous relay antennae jutting out of it, their red lights blinking among the stars framed by the void-black of trees. Officially it was named the Monongah Memorial Research Facility, but everyone who worked on it just referred to it as ‘The compound.’ She hated calling it that, but for consistency’s sake she called it that all the same. Now in the small hours of the morning, the compound was bustling. The nearby town’s morning papers had just dropped, and the page three story was nothing short of a veritable problem:  **The Terror of Point Pleasant: Mothman Returns** . Considering the nature of the compound’s project, this was considerably unfortunate, to the point that the project’s head scientist herself was frustratingly getting involved. She was unhappy, to say the least. 

As she sulked down the oddly sterile brick hallway, the doctor suppressed the urge to massage her temples. The workers and soldiers placed under her charge were brutishly competent at best; at worst, they were just brutish, and this was what introduced her to these wretched migraines. Irritating things, really. Her subordinates on the science team were better, but many still displayed the close-mindedness typical of their species. It was a miracle they had possessed the sense to hire her in the first place. But that mattered not, for Doctor O’Deorain finally possessed the resources and manpower she needed for her experiments. 

And now, one of said experiments was not only loose in the wilderness of West Virginia, but it had interacted with the local populace. And she wasn’t even there to record the data! What was supposed to be the defining moment of this Earth was reduced to utter malarkey when the thing shot bolts of energy from its hands and, what do you know, managed to break through the brick walls of the compound with ease. She would have choice words with Doctor Liao during the next phase of questioning. Utter recklessness. 

Finally, Doctor O’Deorain came to the door of her desire. Currently, however, there was a guard standing directly in front of the door; that’s not standard procedure. Guards didn’t stand in front of doors that could be kicked open (though with all the rust this place had accumulated, that would be a miracle in and of itself). The doctor cocked a brow. 

“What’s going on here?” She would have addressed him by rank, but frankly, she didn’t care enough to check it. 

The guard straightened himself, managing to conjure another inch of height. Despite this, he still managed to be shorter than the woman in front of him. “Commander Reyes is interrogating the prisoner--”

“He’s  _ what?! _ ” Shoving him out of the way, O’Deorain pulled the door open, drawing an aggressive screech. If tetanus was transmitted by sound, they would have all died ages ago. She was met with the sight of the on-site commander practically shoving a high beam lamp into her colleague, Doctor Mina Liao’s, face. Gabriel never was gentle in any of his approaches. If he ever had been, those parts of him were gone; it was a good chunk of the reason Talon hired him. Regardless of his skillset, though, this was just unacceptable. 

“GABRIEL!” It echoed through the metal room, unable to escape. His form went rigid, but he stopped antagonizing the woman in front of him. Turning around, O’Deorain was met with the face of an angry man who didn’t have any patience left to lose. His facial hair also tended to emphasize a bit of an eternal scowl. How fitting. 

“What is the meaning of this?”

He huffed. “What do you think, doc? She wasn’t being cooperative.”

“So you would antagonize her?”

“We gave her water and she smashed the glass into my lieutenant’s face. Hence the restraints...”

“This isn’t Guantanamo Bay, this is a makeshift lab.” 

The commander shrugged. "Six of one." 

Frustration did not begin to describe Doctor O'Deorain's current mood. "Talon employed you to enforce security and tie up any loose ends, NOT to terrorize the foremost mind in robotics!" She took a deep inhale, "I will take care of the questioning from here. Sometimes, a situation calls for a scalpel rather than a 12-gauge."

There was a muttered "noted," followed by Reyes' skulking departure from the room, the door creaking in his wake. Finally.  _ Soldiers _ . O’Deorain put a bit of pep in her step, the urgent clack of dress flats following her to Liao’s side. Damnú aír, they had her strapped to the chair! She got to work, undoing the high-grade velcro, turning away that irritating high-beam. She wasn’t going to run. She wasn’t that stupid. And Moira had to admit it seemed like Reyes had whittled down her will enough so that Moira didn’t fear her lashing out at her. Even with the lamp out of her face, Liao wasn’t making eye contact. 

“So,” Moira took a seat in Gabriel’s chair, “You sabotaged years of our work.” 

“I’m aware,” said Liao.

“This includes  _ your _ work.” 

“I’m aware of that too.”

“Is there any point in my asking what drove you to that decision?”

Liao was quiet for a few moments. “It… it was dying. It was the right thing to do.”

“Right thing to--!” Moira’s shoulders bunched up with fury, “This isn’t Free  _ bloody _ Willy! That  _ thing _ is not Shamu! And now it’s  _ loose _ doing god-knows-what--Maybe changing the environment, maybe learning, maybe adapting further, maybe  _ infiltrating-- _ ” Moira was wringing her long fingers as she seethed but Liao looked at her with that same calm expression. Moira huffed. “We know the populace has seen it, at least, so on top of compromising the experiment and the environment, you’ve also compromised our entire operation.”

Liao glanced down.

“You’ve firebombed your future--do you honestly believe you could work anywhere else?”

“I’ve made peace with that,” said Liao, “It only wanted to learn, it only wanted to see this world, we took advantage of its curiosity and we kept it in a cage. To be poked and prodded and then taken apart when it died.” 

“It was vital scientific work.”

“It was wrong.”

“You weaponized it.”

“I tried letting it possess other pieces of technology, first but…the echo frame was the only thing it responded to. It makes sense--I mean, the frame itself was merely an exploration of possible robotic applications of our gate tech...maybe it acts like the entity’s equivalent of a astronaut’s sui--”

Moira slammed her palms down on the desk. “Well it’s not as if we can make any observations of  _ that _ when it’s loose in the West Virginia woods with dozens of camera-clicking troglodytes searching for it!”

Liao snickered a little and Moira blanched with fury.

“I’m sorry, is this funny to you?” said Moira.

“...it’s funny that they think it’s the mothman,” said Liao with a slight smile.

Moira’s fingernails raked across the table with rage. Typical. One of a handful of minds that could conceivably comprehend her work, work that could change everything, and the obstacle had to be an overabundance of compassion. Moira’s nostrils flared as she leaned close to Liao.

“With what that thing is now capable of, those idiots are going to  _ wish _ it’s Mothman.”


	2. Effigies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More things happen, particularly in the shaping of others and of the selves.

She was she and yet not-she. The language Liao had given her in bits and pieces fluttered around the unfathomable starry space of her mind like zooplankton in the vastness of the ocean, colonizing it, terraforming her mind for the comprehension of this plane. She did not have a ‘self’ where she came from, and in that place the term ‘body’ was reductive as well, and yet she looked around this brittle and hard dimension with fascination, her comprehension so beyond this plane that it had not occurred to her that she had started out a prisoner in it--but Liao taught her. Or did she find another way to contain her? While she was still trying to grasp the concept of herself as an entity distinct from its environment, she had mimicked Liao--Liao had given her a frame. A body. The not-she became hexapodal, became bipedal, body became an extension of the entity, entity became self, self became she. She was an amalgam of the gate she had passed through and her window to this new world, one of her only means of understanding it. She wondered how much of her old dimension she was losing in this transformation. She wondered how much she had given up in occupying this frame. 

Where she had come from there was no distinction between organic and inorganic, but as she understood that distinction in this dimension, she recognized she was in a box. A cold box. Then Liao opened the door, and now she was here. She remembered that first night. She remembered the distinction from that metal box to the great towers of lignin and cellulose. Carbon. Organic. She remembered coming to the mouth of a cave--no, not cave, support beams of cellulose--wood. Right angles. Man-made. Man. Humans. Homo-sapiens. They put her in the box--but not Liao. Liao let her out. And now she was in a new hole. Also made by humans. She had brushed a hand against the wall and it came back black. Carbon. Humans mining for long dead plant material that had ossified to coal. In that darkness, the luminescence of her that was a natural side effect of her new frame and what remained of the dimension she had come from drew moths, fat and thrumming and clumsy around her. She lifted a hand and caught one, closing her fingers around it, crushing it. She uncurled her fingers and saw bent wings and dust and tilted her head and poked at the mass of crushed abdomen, then gingerly unfolded one of the crushed wings. The other moths, indifferent to the fate of their brethren, continued buzzing against the glow of her head. But then she glanced up and saw something. Pale green. Larger than the other moths. She glanced down at the crushed moth in her hand, poked at it briefly so that it might fly again, but it did not move. She glanced back up at the pale green moth and an indescribable feeling overtook her. Indescribable in that it  _ was _ feeling. Organic and inorganic. The moth in her hand would decompose. Chitin would mummify before being crushed down. Become earth or coal. There were living and nonliving things. There was no carbon in her, but she was not  _ not _ living.

_ Liao was living. _

_ I am I. _

_ I am living.  _

She studied the moth a while longer and, as with Liao, she reflected this newfound understanding in her form. Pale green and brown and white flooded into her colorless frame. Yes. This would help her assimilate to the environment. Further mimicry of the endemic species here.

It had been a few days but she was feverishly compiling data--the very gate she had come through had some means of processing it. This other window told her she was neither organic nor inorganic, but neatly sorted the rest of the world into that binary. The presence of carbon--it was in the air, too, was the air living? The language Liao had given her was slowly shaping her understanding of it as well. Trees. Sky. Mountains. She had taken to collecting objects--artifacts--Buckeyes and license plates and a salamander that kept trying to crawl away. She was learning. And she was learning fast.

Genji had about had it. This was it. This was the day he was going to kill someone. He was going to kill Jesse McCree in cold blood, and then he was going to go to prison for the rest of his life, or until his family sought to bestow mercy on him and bail him out. There was nothing stopping him; he could do it. He knew exactly which bones to break, even with one arm. And nothing was going to---

“Y’know, I hate to say this, but I’m gettin’ tired of this song. Let’s find a station that doesn’t have it on repeat.”

Alright. Bloodlust subsided. Genji restrained himself from sighing with relief as the radio ceased to play John Denver’s “Country Roads”. The old soul cowboy was allowed to live another day, and Genji didn’t have to worry about digging a grave all by himself. Being roommates with Jesse was not the easiest thing in the world, but it was far from awful. The man had decent taste in alcohol, and didn’t mind Genji’s choice in sake (although, generally, he was more of a coffee man himself, which was fortunate, considering Jesse also loved a strong cup of coffee). While he could get in the ballpark of overly affectionate, he never crossed a boundary once Genji laid it down, so that was nice. Even the gentle swinging of that little gas station pendant hanging on the rearview mirror was a bit of a comfort to Genji. Far from a man of faith, it was comforting to Genji in that it gave McCree a little bit of confidence in traveling. However, Saint Christopher himself could not escape the wrath conjured from an overabundance of John Denver. 

An hour later, the humble RV found its wheels rolling into the small town of Point Pleasant. As the lazy traffic of a population just over four thousand rolled by, both of the young men gave thanks to their independence. With the reemergence of one of the most popular cryptids in mainstream media, the town was bound to experience a tourist boom, but Jesse and Genji had moved quickly in order to beat the rush and get a head start on obtaining testimony and footage. Any published shows would need time to collect resources and mobilize in order to catch the trend, and most other smaller enthusiasts like them would need time to line up work schedules, get supplies, and make lodging arrangements. The cast and crew of “McCree's McCryptids” had the awfully big convenience of taking their home with them. However, the mass of the RV meant that everyone who  _ could _ cut in front of them, did. 

As they rolled down the street, they took in the quiet sidewalks, the gray skies, the passive stone. It was not a sunny day, casting a veneer of mystery upon their entrance. An omen? A hopeful foreshadowing? It was too early for either of them to say, as it always had been. But it was clear they weren’t the only ones chasing the legend.

“Jeez…” Jesse murmured, looking at the line of oversized vans crowding the sidewalks and hotel parking lots and the obvious line to film in front of the Mothman statue. Both young men furrowed their brows as they watched different crews fussing with their equipment.

“Oh shit,” murmured Genji, looking out the window, at two women taking a selfie outside a mothman-themed cafe, “That’s ‘Tracing Monsters.’”

“Tracing what now?” 

“Podcasters,” said Genji, “Pretty big deal.”

“Podcasts. Yeah. Yeah podcasts,” said Jesse, “Podcasts are… totally a big deal. Listen to ‘em all the time.”

Genji gave him a skeptical side-eye.

“What,” he asked.

“Jesse, we talked about this,” said Genji with a slight eye roll, “You have to pay attention to what everyone else is doing so we aren’t just white noise. You won’t have the luck of being chased by a wild hog  _ every _ time we make a video.” 

“...because nearly being gored is lucky,” said Jesse.

“Publicity is lucky. Viral is lucky,” said Genji, almost counting on his fingers, “Me getting that one shot of your butt looking shapely while you were up in that tree is lucky.”

“People watch ‘McCree’s McCryptids’ to solve the mysteries of the world! Not for my ass!” 

Genji gave him a semi-pitying look and Jesse huffed and looked off. “It’s like you don’t even care about Mothman,” muttered the cowboy.

“People have been chasing Mothman since 1966,” said Genji, “And...the town is  _ clearly _ profiting from the legend…” 

“Wh--they wouldn’t make him up!” Jesse exclaimed, gesticulating now.

“Part of solving mysteries is accepting evidence,” said Genji, flatly, “Not just looking for what you want to believe in.”

“Hmph,” Jesse glanced out the window, “Well, maybe Mothman exists in a way our limited human perceptions of evidence can’t quantify, ever think of that?”

“...I think you’ve at least been looking at the books and forums I suggested to you, so I’m feeling a little better about this,” said Genji, with a slight smile.

“I may have perused,” Jesse conceded. He loved to debate with his roommate (having someone smart to pass the time was not something to be taken for granted), and it was generally good to have the tools to continue that debate if he ever wanted to come out on top. Besides, all of those cruddy laminated posters in his elementary school’s library really were onto something. Doing your research can lead you to some interesting stories. 

“Ah, dag gummit,” he muttered. “This alley’s a dead-end. I gotta turn around.” A small snicker from Genji. The quieter of the two had a surprisingly good sense of direction, which was convenient in the sense that Jesse was the one who did the most driving. Genji resented being called a “trusty navigator,” though. McCree’s thought was interrupted by a greenish flicker in the upward corner of his vision.

It was a glance. An upward flick of the eye. That’s all it took, and one might ask what the odds could have been. Big or small, the odds let Jesse McCree see something poking out of a corner of a building ahead of them in the early afternoon sun; something that vaguely looked like a head aglow in eerie green light. 

“JESSE!” 

Jesse slammed on the brakes, bringing the RV to a halt and sending a few of their belongings through the air. Not a second later, their mobile home lurched as the front bumper was hit from the right. Time almost slowed as expectation and fear gave birth to panic, an entity which encapsulated eternities within the cosmos of a second. And all that Jesse could conjure in his brain was an expletive. 

It was not long until the eternity was over. Jesse whipped his head to the right, needing to see that Genji was okay. His passenger was breathing, hard, heavy, his eyes wide and consumed with fear. But he looked physically okay. 

“Genji,” he dared to speak, hoping to ground his friend, “Genji, you’re okay. Feel the seat for me, okay?” In response, Genji’s hand gripped the upholstery of the front seat, the breathing already getting slower. “Good. See? No asphalt. You’re not hit. You’re gonna be just fine.” 

Genji’s breathing slowed, deepened. Jesse had seen this, and they had talked about it more than once. He knew what to do. 

“Thanks, Jesse...” he pushed out, “and you are... the worst driver.”

Suddenly, there was a loud pounding on the side of the door. 

Genji glances out of the window, trying to get his breathing under control. “Jesse?”

“Yeah?” 

“Why is Doc Brown trying to beat a whole into your door?”

“What?”

“From  _ Back to the Future _ \--- he’s--he’s trying to kill us.”

“Hold on juuust a minute, Genj.” 

Jesse pushed out his door, wanting to take a look at the damages and smooth things over with whoever “Doc Brown” was. As he walked around, though, he saw that, while minimal, the only damages that had occurred were on his automobile. It may also have had to do with the fact that their RV was hit by the automotive version of a battering ram. Jesse was met with the sight of a semi-truck prepared for war. Multiple modifications had been made to make it look--and likely function--like a tank. Attached to its rear looked suspiciously like a modular building welded to wheels and axles, but he couldn’t be sure without a closer look. There was no way this thing was legal. 

“Oi!” Jesse turned to the source of this new voice and--wow, Genji was not kidding. This guy practically looked  _ just _ like Doc Brown--if Doc Brown was about 30 years younger and way more into cocaine. He was short, hunched over like a crazed hermit you’d see wander out of a cave. Hobbling over with a noticeable limp, the man approached Jesse, frustration and disapproval already stamped onto his face. 

“Now listen here, cowboy!” Jesse would give him that; his hat was neither subtle nor uninspired. “What kind of demolition derby do you think this is, drivin’ like that? You’re lucky we only got a dent!”

“Only a--look, friend, I bet I couldn’t dent your truck if I hit it with dynamite!” 

The man looked perplexed at that, and then turned back to the cab he had emerged from. “Oi! Roadie! Remind me to test the Ram for explosive protection!” 

Out from the passenger side, Jesse watched the emergence of a man who could only be described as a wall. He could’ve sworn the ground shook when the man’s feet hit it. He was wearing a shirt that did little to cover the tattoos spanning his body, and a cargo vest that screamed army surplus, and his silvery hair was tied into a messy bun. His face had a perfected, and very possibly permanent, scowl, as if irritation was the default emotion. As the behemoth lumbered towards him, Jesse swallowed, wondering if he’d just made a mistake that his bones were going to pay for. The veritable giant turned to the scrawny man. 

“What’d ya do now?” His voice was the definition of bass. It was gruff and short and resigned.

“What did  _ I _ do!?” said the skinny hermit, “The bloody winnebago jumped right out in front of us! Maybe if you weren’t  _ sleeping _ \---”

“Y’got insurance?” the massive man said, cutting the scrawny man off and clearly wanting to keep this whole exchange as short as possible.

“Uh…” McCree started.

“Yes,” said Genji, still visibly shaken, pulling a card out of his wallet. 

“Hrm,” the massive man took the card, snapped a picture of it on a smartphone that was virtually white with cracks, and handed it back to Genji, then fished through some pockets on his own cargo vests before pulling out his own card and showing it to Genji, who in turn took a photo of the massive man’s card on his own phone. 

_ Rich boy saves the day again, _ thought McCree, his stomach twisting.

“...Rutledge and Fawkes,” Genji said, reading his phone, “ _ The _ Rutledge and Fawkes?” 

“In the flesh!” said the scrawny man, putting his hands on his hips.

“Whaddayamean  _ the _ Rutledge and Fawkes?” said Jesse.

“Jamison Fawkes and Mako Rutledge, the guys who put the actual ‘hunt’ in monster hunters!” said the scrawny man, apparently named Jamison according to what McCree could gather at how he gestured at himself and his huge partner.

“These are the guys that killed the Wakulla Hellcat.” said Genji.

“Wakulla what now?” said McCree.

“Real let-down that one,” muttered the scrawny man with a bit of faux-grandeur, “Just a bigger than average puma.”

“With record-breaking papilloma growths,” said Genji.

“...is that another thing I’ll be regretting googling later?” said McCree.

“Yep,” said Genji.

“Waaaaait a tick, I know you, too!” said Jamison, and a half-cackle escaped him, “You’re that cowboy what got a pig tusk up his arse looking for the skunk ape on the youtubes!”

“It didn’t go up my ass,” muttered McCree.

“I  _ knew _ it!” said Jamison, “And now you’re back for more?!”

McCree’s lips pressed together in a grimace, and he nearly moved to start telling Jamison off, but Mako apparently picked up on McCree’s frustration and hacked out an ‘ahem.’ 

“We’re holding up traffic,” said Mako, “Let’s just call the tow trucks.” 

\----

“Viral sensation my ass,” muttered McCree as they watched the tow truck back their RV into a repair garage.

“Yep. Viral Sensation: Your ass,” said Genji apparently engaged in a very aggressive texting argument with his brother.

“I didn’t come here to give everyone a big laugh about that skunk ape mess! We came here for mothman!” said McCree.

Genji put down his phone. “Look, there are times where you need to stand up for yourself, and times where you should take what positive attention you can get. There are worse things than being viewed in a humorous light.” Hearing his device buzz, Genji raised it again, his brow furrowing. “For one, they could be calling you insane.” 

McCree frowned. He wasn’t exactly a fan of either perspective. Being mocked wasn’t going to get him high professional standing anytime soon. But he’d rather people think him eccentric than a fool. 

They would have to spend the night in a hotel while their RV was undergoing repairs, but nearly every reputable room was full up with, of course, other monster hunters, so they ended up stuck in the price-gougiest winner of the “No Way In Fuck Am I Sleeping In Those Sheets” award, a dilapidated early 70’s monstrosity called the “Country Roads Inn.”

_ John Denver is cursing me, _ thought Genji as the ice machine choked out cloudy chunks into a bucket he really hoped had been cleaned thoroughly. He gave a glance to the lit window of their hotel room and massaged his temples with fingertips.

“Start a monster-hunting show with your dumbass college roommate--that’ll show your dad. No  _ way _ will it backfire on you horrifically,” Genji muttered to himself.

In the hotel room, going back to his microwaved dinner, McCree’s thoughts dwelled on matters of foolishness, i.e. his fender-bender earlier. He saw something. Something was actually out there. But what would Genji think, especially after a comment like that? Genji re-entered the room, stuffed a few of their room-temperature cans of light beer into the ice bucket, and hesitantly sat down on the bed, taking out his phone and resuming texting. A long silence passed between them. McCree wanted to apologize more about the accident, but he could tell Genji was at the point where he just wanted to get more mental distance from it. He watched as Genji tentatively felt at the sides of his head, those thick brows of his furrowed, trying to figure out if he had been concussed or he was psychosomatically giving himself a headache, before snapping himself out of it and resuming texting.

_ Probably googling concussion symptoms,  _ McCree thought grimly as he moved to turn on the TV.

_ Knock knock knock _ . 

McCree brought his head up. He turned to Genji, who was still typing away on the phone, this time with an eyebrow raised. The cowboy just shrugged, grabbing his hat and returning it to its cranial perch as he approached the door. He cleared his throat, defaulting to professional, just in case the company was of the professional kind. 

“McCree’s McCryptids, how can we… help…”

There was no one at the door. 

Instead, McCree looked down, expecting maybe a “Sorry our rooms are shit” pile of towels from the hotel staff or something. But there weren’t towels. There was a little pile of three neatly stacked rocks about half the length of his forearm in height, like a miniature snowman almost. It seemed to have some semblance of his hat made out of a few dead brown leaves and some carefully tented bark. The husk of a chestnut seemed to serve as the approximation of his stubble and discarded candy wrappers seemed to serve as clothes. An effigy of him. McCree’s mouth hung open in some combination of pure fear and confusion. He was almost overtaken with the urge to kick the little “him” apart, to send those rocks sailing through the night air and clattering across the asphalt of the parking lot below. But instead he stood, rubbed at his stubbly jaw, and stared.

He stepped outside, letting the dim light of the early evening replace that of the hotel room’s, the door closing behind him as he squatted and stared down at it. He reached a finger out gingerly to the two cartoonishly blank black eyes drawn out on the effigy’s “face.” His finger came away with a light black smudge on it. He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together tentatively.  _ Coal dust? _ he thought. McCree heard the door open behind them, artificial light pouring out into the air again. 

“What the fuck,” Genji said. McCree turned around, looking him in the eyes. He had no idea what was happening, and neither did Genji, judging by his brow. He turned back to the creepy little sculpture, struggling for words. Just as silently, Genji held out a now-ice-cold beer can to him and McCree took it, not taking his eyes off the effigy as he popped it open and it made a fizzing sound in the night air against the distant sound of cars and night birds.

What the fuck indeed?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for tuning in for another episode in this thrill ride! The third chapter will arrive... eventually. 
> 
> Nitewrighter is a genius and is the reason this even exists, so go check out her stuff if you, for some Godforsaken reason, haven't already.
> 
> See you next time!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for giving this a read! This is the first work I've posted online in a LONG time, and it's the very first I've put onto AO3. I could not have done this without my amazing co-author and captive mentor Nitewrighter. Her writing is awesome, and if you're reading this, you might already know that. 
> 
> This is the first in a totally unknown amount of chapters of an AU that I couldn't not write. I was compelled! And if I have to suffer my brain, y'all do too. Anyway, if you liked it, give a comment. Constructive criticism? Comment! Got a funny joke? COMMENT! I crave feedback. 
> 
> See y'all around!


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